


The Quizmaster Cometh

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [27]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Background Slash, Gen, Magic, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21091892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: With Carolina's seventeenth birthday properly celebrated, it's time for her and Church to study for their magical learner's permit. Unfortunately, Kimball and their quizmaster seem to have a history....





	The Quizmaster Cometh

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waiting to write this one for a while. And it's one of the few episodes where I didn't have to struggle for a decent title. :D Hope you guys have fun with the update! 
> 
> Thanks goes out to Aryashi as always and to chat for helping me figure out math because I...don't understand it.

Carolina’s alarm goes off. She makes a protesting sound.

She hasn’t slept well. She can feel it in the ache in her head and the heaviness of her body as she buries her face into her pillow and ignores the alarm for a few more seconds.

Yesterday was Yom Kippur and technically the day Church was created, so she cycled between feeling guilty about not spending time with him, feeling frustrated about not being able to properly atone for yet another year full of mistakes, and being a little lonely after both her dad and Church declined going to services.

She dreamed restless, uncomfortable dreams that are already slipping from her mind as she forces her eyes open and reaches for the clock, whose beeping is getting louder and more insistent.

Someone else gets there first. A hand reaches down and turns off the alarm as an unfamiliar voice says cheerfully, “Good morning, Miss Carolina!”

Carolina looks up. There’s a strange man standing over her bed. He’s got a thin face, half-concealed behind a mustache and pointed beard that looks like something out of a history book, and his eyes meet hers behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He’s smiling, like it’s normal for him to be standing in a teenage girl’s room when she’s half-asleep and in her pajamas.

Carolina is suddenly wide awake.

She scrambles up, her hand balled into a fist, and slugs the smiling stranger right in his nose.

His head snaps backwards, and Carolina has a sense of déjà vu at the sound of his nose breaking. She did this to Church a year ago.

The man drops like a log, crumpling into an awkward sitting position on the ground. His hands go to his bleeding nose. He stares at her for a second, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Then he says, the aggrieved words coming out nasally and half-muffled by his hands, “Oh, _bollocks_!”

“Why are you in my room?” Carolina shouts, standing on her bed and kicking the sheets away so that her legs are free. She holds up her fists again, ready, and keeps her eyes on the intruder even as she hears running feet and her bedroom door swinging open.

There’s a beat of silence.

“...Honestly, I was kind of hoping for this,” Church says. He doesn’t sound upset at the sight of a weirdo in her room. Instead, he sounds amused. Carolina doesn’t relax, exactly, but she lets out a slow breath when he snickers. “Seriously, Carolina. We need to talk about how your first instinct is _always_ fight.”

“Oh my!” says Grey with a giggle.

Now Carolina relaxes enough to glance over her shoulder.

Both Church and Grey are grinning.

Kimball isn’t. In fact, she looks annoyed, her lips thin and her eyes narrowed. She’s not glaring at Carolina though. All of her attention is on the bleeding man on the floor. “Of course,” she says flatly.

“_Vanessa_?”

The surprise in the man’s voice makes Carolina refocus.

He’s still cradling his nose, and now he’s staring back at Kimball. He looks flustered, and then embarrassed, and then slightly annoyed as well. “I heard--” He stops at the sound of his own voice, and then looks slightly queasy. “Bollocks,” he mutters again, and then lifts one of his bloodied hands to point at his nose. He winces as it resets itself with a faint, uncomfortable sound. Then he waves his hand, banishing the blood, and smooths a fidgeting hand across his mustache. His eyes dart nervously towards everyone in the room, though they linger on Kimball. “I, ah, didn’t realize that Miss Carolina and Mister James were _your_ wards.”

“Then someone played a joke on both of us,” Kimball says, unsmiling.

“Can someone explain why he’s in my room?” Carolina demands.

Grey giggles. “He’s clearly your quizmaster!” When Carolina just stares at her, Grey taps her finger to her mouth. A pensive look flits across her face. “Oh dear. Did anyone explain about your quizmaster--”

“Explain what? I know what a quizmaster is.” Carolina tries not to look at Kimball as she says that, though she knows that Kimball is on a forced sabbatical from being one to take care of her. “I just don’t know why he’s in my room!”

The quizmaster coughs as he stands up and brushes at his pants. “Well, ah, it’s tradition.”

“A stupid one,” Kimball says.

The quizmaster starts to bristle. “Vanessa--” Then he touches his nose. “Well, hm, it does cause the occasional kerfluffle, I’ll admit! But as the Bard says--”

“No,” Kimball says. “I haven’t had coffee yet. I’m not listening to you misquote Shakespeare, Doyle.”

Doyle frowns at her. “Really, Vanessa. I know we have had our differences--” He flushes pink at Kimball’s derisive laugh. “I know we have had our, ah, differences over the, well, centuries, but we should try to set those aside for the duration, don’t you, ah, think? For Miss Carolina and Mister James’s sakes?”

Kimball’s eyes narrow to slits. “Differences.” Carolina’s startled by the seething anger in Kimball’s voice. “Differences doesn’t even begin to cover--”

Grey giggles and places a hand on Kimball’s arm. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy listening to you two argue over politics, but I am afraid Doyle does have a point. At the very least he does need to speak to Church and Carolina about their tests! Let’s go get a cup of coffee and you can yell at him later.”

Doyle looks less than thrilled, but Kimball gives a grudging nod.

“Well!” Doyle says when the door closes behind Kimball and Grey. He laughs uncomfortably. “Not quite the way I anticipated the morning going, but, ah, I suppose life would be boring without the unexpected. So, ah, Miss Carolina and--”

“It’s the 20th century,” Church says. “Just call us Carolina and Church.”

Doyle blinks. “Is that what you prefer?”

“Yes,” Carolina says.

“And, ah, that was Church? Not James?” When Church nods, Doyle looks puzzled. “Very well. Then, ah, Carolina and Church, I am your quizmaster.” He gives a jerky little bow. “As Vanessa has no doubt explained, that means I will be returning with periodic reminders to study for your learner’s permit examination, as well as giving you a test or two of my own. You have three chances to pass your permit test, though I advise you to succeed the first time!”

“Right,” Carolina says.

Doyle gives an uncomfortable cough. “Which, ah, brings me to my next point. Neither of you has exactly been hitting the books, as I think the youths say nowadays. I would heavily suggest both of you focus on your studies.”

There’s a pointed weight to his words, and now it’s Carolina’s turn to be flustered. She bites down against a scowl. “It’s been a busy week,” she says.

“Of course, of course!” Doyle agrees hastily. His smile is apologetic and worried. “I’m certain that it has been! And may I say, ah, a happy birthday...to you both…..” He trails off, his cheeks turning pink again. He smooths a hand over his mouth, like he wants to take the words back.

Church grimaces, and Carolina realizes that Doyle has heard the story. He thinks Church is her half-brother, the product of an affair between her dad and Doctor Huggins. She tries not to glare and fails, feeling her jaw tighten with irritation.

Doyle winces. “Um, yes. well! I completely understand that you both are quite busy with school, but I must emphasize the importance of studying for your learner's permit!” He glances at the clock and coughs. “And now I really should be going. As the great Bard says, time waits for no man!”

“Wait!” Carolina says, but Doyle disappears in a flash of golden light. Blinking away golden spots, she mutters, “When’s the actual test…?”

“Well, not today,” Church says with a shrug. He makes a face. “Ugh, more studying. At least this will be easy.”

* * *

“Oh, you’re going for your learner’s?” Wash asks. He leans against the locker next to hers, grinning. “Good luck.”

Carolina freezes. Her heart jumps into her throat. She blinks at him. “What?”

He blinks back. He looks confused by her surprise. “Uh, your learner’s permit?” he repeats, gesturing to the book in her hand.

It’s her handbook, she realizes, which has the initials D.M.V. written in the palm. Carolina stares between it and Wash’s puzzled look, and then understands he’s not talking about her witch’s license. She forces a laugh and throws the book into her locker. “Right. Yeah, I don’t know. I was thinking about it, but, uh. I’d have to borrow Grey’s car, and--” She shrugs, uncomfortable.

Some of the confusion stays in Wash’s face, but all he says is, “Yeah. Well, let me know. I should probably get mine so my mom doesn’t have to drive my sisters everywhere. We could study together.”

Carolina smiles at that. “Okay.”

When they get to homeroom, Donut greets them with a warm, “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Carolina says. His cheerfulness is infectious. It’s annoying she has more stuff to study, but from a brief scan of her handbook at breakfast, it’s just a lot of spells to memorize. She can memorize.

She’s just sat down when the door opens and Simmons enters. She sinks down in her chair, uncomfortable, remembering his reaction when Church accidentally implied he was her dad’s illegitimate son. She hates that even Simmons, who knows about magic, has the wrong impression of her family.

But he doesn’t even glance in her direction. Instead he stops, blinking. As confusion clouds his face, Carolina has a chance to look at him. It doesn’t look like he slept well either. “Why did I--” he starts to mutter, and then gives his head a shake.

“What’s up?” Donut asks, tilting his head.

Simmons frowns for a second, before he blinks again. “Right! I came in to ask, uh, I wasn’t paying attention when Kraft was talking at the morning meeting--”

Donut laughs. “Who does?”

Simmons makes a face, like he can’t decide if he agrees or not. “Uh. Did he say anything important?”

Donut shrugs. “Not really. You know he likes to talk.”

“Okay,” Simmons says. He looks relieved. “Good. Just wanted to check.”

Donut grins at him. “Aw, it only took you a year to realize that nothing Kraft says is--” He stops as the door opens again and South, in her cheerleader uniform, comes in wearing a scowl. He gives her a quick look, and then says in an entirely different tone, “Anyway! Is that all you needed?”

Simmons nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

He turns to leave and comes face to face with Church. They both look startled, and then Simmons looks uncomfortable while Church scowls and makes a wide berth around him.

“Leave him alone,” Carolina whispers at Church when he sits down.

He looks slightly defensive. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t glare at him! It’s weird.” A suspicion strikes her. She hisses at him, “You better not glare at him like that during Robotics Club!”

“I don’t!” he protests. He slouches in his seat, his eyes sliding away from hers, and she knows he’s lying.

“Church,” she says, exasperated, and then clamps her mouth shut as the bell rings. She gives him one last look that he pretends not to notice.

* * *

Carolina might not be excited about her learner’s permit, but she understands tests. She’ll just memorize the handbook and be done with it. It’s like studying for anything else.

Once she’s done with that night’s homework, she opens up the handbook and starts at the beginning. A lot of the spells are basic ones Kimball and Grey already made her learn, but there’s a lot here that she doesn’t recognize. They’re all in her spellbook, she bets, but they’re not ones she’s gone looking for.

She’s halfway through the second chapter when Kimball says, sounding pleased, “I was going to ask if you were studying your handbook, but I can already see the answer is yes. Let me know if you need any help--”

On the love seat, halfheartedly trying to read the assigned chapter for English, Church snorts. “She’s memorizing the whole thing,” he says in the same unenthusiastic tone he used when Carolina told him her plan. “You can make her study cards or something.”

Kimball looks amused. “Going the ‘memorize everything’ route? That’s not a bad idea.” Then her eyes narrow. She turns. “And you’re studying too?”

Church blinks. “Uh….”

The amusement vanishes from Kimball’s face.

Her new expression makes Church hold Frankenstein up like a shield. “I’m doing homework!”

Kimball looks unimpressed. “And when you’re done, you’re going to study your handbook.” It’s not phrased as a question. She folds her arms against her chest. “Church, you can’t rely on old memories to help you pass the test. You need to study.”

Church slouches in his chair. “Yeah, okay.”

“Your failure is my failure,” Kimball says. “And I’m not giving Donald Doyle that satisfaction.”

The bitterness in her voice surprises Carolina again. Even Church blinks a little. He eyes Kimball, clearly hesitating, before curiosity wins out. “What’s your problem with Doyle?”

“I--” Kimball stops. Her jaw works for a moment. It’s the closest Carolina has seen her come to losing her temper outside of her finding out about Carolina hiding Church in her room and the Felix and Locus stuff. And, well, that morning when she realized Doyle was Carolina and Church’s quizmaster. Kimball speaks slowly, clearly biting back what she actually wants to say, “We...disagree on a lot of Council laws….”

“Like what?” Church asks.

Kimball barks out a laugh. “Where to start?” Then a new emotion flits across her face. Her shoulders slump. Her jaw stays tense, but she gets control of her anger, enough that she sounds sarcastic rather than furious. “I'm not going to boil three hundred years of arguments down for you so you can avoid studying. Let's just say we have different opinions on what to do when we disagree on Council law and leave it at that.”

“But that doesn’t explain anything!”

Kimball offers Church a humorless smile. “Maybe I’ll actually explain if you pass your learner’s test.”

Church groans loudly.

* * *

“Creep alert,” Wash mutters as they round the track.

Carolina looks. Her already pounding heart skips a beat at the sight of Doyle sitting in the bleachers. When their eyes meet, he smiles and waves enthusiastically. She grimaces. “Oh. No. Uh. I know him.”

She doesn’t have to look to know Wash is giving her a weird look. “He’s a friend of--” She almost says Kimball, and chokes on the uncomfortable laugh that rises at the thought. “Grey. I don’t know why he’s here though. Um. I’ll go see.”

Doyle’s smiling when she jogs over. “My, you’re very fast, aren’t you? Excellent job!” Then he notices her irritation. His smile falters. “Oh, ah, I was just seeing how you were faring in your studies. I do apologize for the intrusion.”

“I’m busy,” Carolina says through gritted teeth.

Doyle looks genuinely apologetic. “I understand, but, well, this is part and parcel of being a witch. Your test will be coming up soon--”

“CAROLINA? IS THIS ONE OF THOSE STRANGER-DANGER SITUATIONS?” Sarge hollers from across the field. “I’VE GOT A WRENCH IF HE NEEDS A BEAT--”

Doyle hastily snaps his fingers. A bright golden glow washes over Carolina and the entire field. Sarge’s threat cuts off mid-sentence. Doyle smiles uneasily. He tugs at one corner of his mustache. “Stopping time,” he explains, though Carolina hasn’t asked. “Page 201. Have you--”

Carolina scowls. “I’m only on chapter three.”

To her surprise, Doyle brightens. “But you _are_ studying?” When she nods, he beams at her. “Excellent, excellent!”

Carolina glances over her shoulder. Wash is frozen with the rest of her team. It’s unnerving, seeing him completely still, caught with his knees bent and one foot frozen off the ground. She tries to figure out a polite way to tell Doyle to go away.

“Go away, please.”

Doyle laughs. “Yes, you’ll be wanting to get back to your, ah, training. I should go see how your brother is faring.” He smiles. “I hope he’s being as diligent!” He snaps his fingers and disappears as Sarge resumes his yell.

“--ING! Wait, where’d he go?”

Carolina closes her eyes and counts to five. If this keeps up, she’s ratting Doyle out to Kimball about being so flashy with magic at her school. “Everything’s fine, Sarge!” she calls. She jogs back towards Wash.

“No offense, but Grey has weird friends,” Wash informs her.

Carolina laughs ruefully. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Locus stares grimly at the paper in front of him.

“Nothing jumping out at you?” Grif asks. He’s perched on the table, helping himself to the remains of Locus’s dinner. He leans forward, temporarily blocking Locus’s view of the newspaper with his ears.

Locus sighs. “No.” He sets the newspaper down. “But I’m lacking some of the job skills mortals seem to require.”

“That’s why I never bothered,” Grif says.

Locus raises an eyebrow at this.

“Well, and I could just magic myself food and clothes.”

Locus doesn’t sigh again, but Grif does have a point. Locus’s savings are rapidly dwindling. He’s underestimated how expensive living as a mortal would be. Although installing a cat door so that Grif wouldn’t keep clawing or fake meowing at his door probably was an unnecessary expense.

Still, he did enjoy installing the cat door. There’s something satisfying about making something with one’s own hands.

“I need a job,” Locus says, refocusing on the problem at hand. “One that doesn’t require experience or too many questions about my past.”

Grif snorts. “Okay, then you’re looking at the wrong ads. You need something a teenager could do. Like working at the Slicery.”

“The Slicery,” Locus says slowly.

“Yeah!”

Locus supposes the idea has some merit. If a teenage mortal can do the job, there shouldn’t be any reason why he’d fail. Then he sees the tell-tale twitching of Grif’s tail and knows that the next words out of the familiar’s mouth will be about his mortal housemate.

“Simmons says their pizza is crap, and sure it’s not awesome, but no pizza is crap. Well, except for vegan pizza. That’s an abomination, even if Simmons claims it’s healthier. Hey, if you get a job at the Slicery, can I come along?”

Locus opens his mouth to say no and...hesitates. Grif’s tail is still twitching, small, agitated movements. Locus wonders if he realizes how much his tail betrays him. He’s aware of Grif’s loneliness, how Grif comes over to this apartment as soon as Simmons goes to work or to his highly illegal magic lessons. And he’s aware, too, that Grif knows Westbridge better than he does.

It would be smart to have company. For the job, of course. Not because he’s unused to silence himself after all these centuries. He is simply trying to repay Grif for what he’s done.

“Perhaps,” he says.

Grif looks pleased, like it’s a yes. “Cool.”

* * *

“Nope,” Church says when he spies the quiz cards in Kimball’s hands. He starts to beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs.

“If I have to do it, so do you,” Carolina says.

Church gives her a betrayed look. Then he grimaces as Kimball waves him back down the stairs. “Most of these spells are stupid. We’re not gonna use them when we get our actual licenses. It’s like calculus. Who uses that?”

Kimball doesn’t look swayed by the argument. She answers dryly. “Physicists, engineers, economists--”

“Okay, okay,” Church mutters. He stomps down the stairs and throws himself down onto the couch next to Carolina. He crosses his arms, sulking so much that Carolina’s surprised storm clouds don’t start circling his head. “This is dumb.”

Kimball ignores the grumbled comment. She turns to Carolina and holds up a card.

“Truth Sprinkles,” Carolina reads. She feels a bit of relief. She’s read that far in the handbook. She closes her eyes, trying to pull up the page in her mind. “Right, um, it makes people tell the truth. Lasts twenty-four hours. Can be homemade or bought in the Other Realm.”

“Its ingredients?”

“One hundred percent refined truth,” Carolina says, and then frowns. “And something else….”

“Harsh reality,” Church says, still slouching. “Cause the truth sucks.”

“Side effects?” Kimball asks.

Carolina can answer that one. It’s one reason she made a mental note not to use truth sprinkles, even if she had a moment of temptation, wanting to get the truth out of her dad over what he did for those eleven months. “Aching and hurt feelings.”

Kimball smiles. “Right!” She turns and holds up another card.

“Sleeping potion?” Church snorts. “Wish I had one of those right now.” When Kimball’s eyes narrow, he sighs. “Uh. Right. Well, the standard one will knock you out for a couple days, unless you screw it up and Rip Van Winkle it. You need your cauldron and a couple ingredients.”

“Which are?”

Church makes a face. “Why do I have to memorize it? It’s not like we’re gonna ever not have our spellbooks.”

Carolina looks at him. He frowns back before understanding brings an annoyed flush to his face. “I lost my spellbook _one time_!” He puts his feet up on the coffee table and says, “Fine. Uh. Feather of a fowl. It’s better with ostrich or emu, but all of them work. Alcohol. Um. Body hair. Couple ounces of chlorophyll--”

“A couple?” Kimball interrupts.

Church shrugs. “Three?”

“Two.”

“Right….”

“And one more ingredient,” Kimball says.

Church blinks. His eyes dart towards Carolina, who gives a small shrug. She hasn’t read this part of the handbook yet. He licks his lips. “Yeah. Uh. It’s, uh-- right, animal hair!”

“Yes,” Kimball says.

She starts to pull out another card and stops when Carolina asks, “So these are the kinds of questions we’re going to get for the test? Will it be multiple choice? Are we going to have to make these potions and use them, or just write out the ingredients and steps? How long does the test take--” Once Carolina starts asking questions, she finds she can’t stop.

“Slow down,” Kimball says. She looks amused, but sympathetic too, and maybe even a little wistful. Carolina figures she’s probably heard these questions before, from other worried teenage witches.

“Yeah, it’s not that complicated,” Church adds. “Not for your learner’s permit, anyway. It’s one or two questions, max.”

“Oh,” Carolina says, frowning at the handbook. Suddenly memorizing about a thousand pages of spells and potions seems a little stupid.

That must show on her face, because Kimball shakes her head. “While he’s right about it only being a few questions, it’s important for you to know all this for the future. You need to know what you can do with your magic, and what you can’t. And you don't want to fail the test, even if you do get three chances.”

“What happens if you fail three times?”

“Bad stuff,” Church says flatly. For a second he’s not sulking, just grim, enough that Carolina blinks at him in surprise. Then he nudges her with his elbow, a smirk ghosting across his face. “Why the twenty questions? Are you seriously worried you’re gonna fail three times? Come on. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“As long as you study,” Kimball agrees. She holds up another card.

* * *

“Can’t believe they didn’t have a hat in my size,” Grif shouts in Locus’s ear. He promised to stay in the backpack once Locus headed out for his first delivery, but that promise lasted about five seconds. He’s got his paws braced on Locus’s back, and Locus can feel him twisting and squirming. Hopefully he won’t knock the insulated pizza bag off the back of the moped with all that movement.

Locus ignores the complaint. If it’s really a complaint at all.

When Locus stops at a red light, he spares a quick glance over his shoulder. At first he doesn’t recognize the look on Grif’s face, his whiskers out and his ears up. Then Grif says, “Man, I missed having the wind in my hair-- well, fur, but you know what I mean,” and Locus realizes that Grif is enjoying himself.

“You flew?”

“Eh, I can handle a broom. But seriously, chalk one up to the mortals. Cars are _way_ more fun than brooms or vacuums.” Then Grif adds with a snort, “And hey, at least you don't drive like an old man. Simmons actually obeys the speed limits.”

Locus wonders if Grif realizes how often he talks about Simmons.

The light turns green.

The first stop is a small one-story house. A teenager answers the door. He doesn’t say hello. Instead his eyes go wide and he looks Locus over slowly, from the ridiculous Slicery hat the owner made him wear to the three pizza boxes Locus is holding.

His eyes flick past Locus, and Locus knows he’s looking at Grif too, who’s perched on the moped seat, paws on the handlebars like he’s contemplating trying to see if he can drive without opposable thumbs.

“Your pizza,” Locus says when the boy keeps staring.

The boy blinks. Then he calls over his shoulder, “Uh, well, either the pizza's here or North decided to play a prank and hired a strip--”

Locus instantly regrets this job. He reminds himself of his rent, due at the beginning of the month, and his rapidly disappearing savings, and then thrusts the boxes at the boy. “That will be thirty-three dollars and twenty-six cents.”

“Right, right,” the guy says. He’s grinning a little. “Never mind, he’s too cheap to be a stripper!” As Locus tries not to glare, the kid hands over a couple of crumpled bills and grabs the pizzas. “Keep the change, buddy.”

The next delivery goes similarly to the first, in that the woman stares at him before flushing and handing him much more money than the pizza is worth. Locus tries not to feel self-conscious. He checks his reflection in the moped, but other than a few hairs that have slipped from his ponytail, he doesn’t look different.

Grif can’t smirk, but there’s something in the way he twitches his whiskers and looks at Locus that makes Locus suspect he’s doing the feline equivalent. “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty,” he drawls.

Locus narrows his eyes.

The third delivery involves a woman who actually licks her lips before she asks him to bring the pizza into the house. “You must be new,” she says, and Locus sidles out of reach a second before her hand can land on his arm. “I’d remember you.”

“This is my first day.”

“Oh,” the woman says, smiling. Her eyes gleam. “Well, I hope to see much, much more of you.”

At this rate, Locus thinks, staring down at the money she presses into his hand, he’ll make his next month’s rent from tips alone.

Locus doesn’t regret giving up his magic most days, even as he struggles adjusting to mortal life. Magic has brought him nothing but grief. But by the sixth delivery, Locus catches himself thinking wistfully of that keep-away spell. Or an invisibility spell.

“You know, maybe that first kid had the right idea,” Grif says.

Locus closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Please stop talking.”

* * *

“Good evening!” Doyle says cheerfully.

Carolina almost punches him again as he materializes in her bedroom. She’s halfway out of her chair before she recognizes his voice. At least this time she’s not in her pajamas. She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Ground rules. Don’t appear in my bedroom. You can appear in the hallway and knock. And don’t show up at school.”

“I, ah, yes, perhaps that would be a wise idea,” Doyle says. Judging by the way he’s taken a large step away from her, he definitely realized he narrowly avoided another broken nose. He coughs, fingering the bow tie at his throat. His smile is anxious. “How fares your studies?”

Carolina looks down at her math homework and then back up at him. “They’re, uh, faring. Once I finish my homework, I was going to tackle chapter twelve.”

Doyle frowns. “I hate to be a bother, but time _is_ of the essence. You really should focus on your magical studies. Surely you can spare a few days off from your mortal schooling? As Shakespeare once said--”

“She’s not missing school,” Kimball says from the doorway. She tilts her head, and there’s a simmering anger in her voice as she adds, “She’s half-mortal, remember? They don’t get a two-week break to study for their learner’s permit, unlike in the Other Realm.”

“Really, Vanessa,” Doyle says. He looks uncomfortable. “That can’t be helped. She’s a bright girl. I doubt she’ll struggle with her studies if she misses a week or two.”

“No,” Kimball says.

The two stare at each other. The air is thick with tension, and Carolina thinks wistfully of just last week, when the only person who invaded her room without asking was Church. “I’m not skipping school,” she says. “I’d make Sarge cry if I missed two weeks.”

It’s like she’s not saying anything. Neither Kimball nor Doyle look towards her. A little louder, she adds, “But I bet Church would be glad to skip a week.”

The attempt at a joke falls on deaf ears. Doyle purses his lips. He crosses his arms and just as quickly uncrosses them. “You know as well as I do that we have to abide by the rules, Vanessa. I can’t give her extra time to study, even if it, ah--”

“What? Would be fairer?” Kimball snorts. “That’s your problem, Doyle. You have just enough of a conscience to know when something isn’t right, but not enough of a spine to do anything about it.”

Doyle flushes. For a moment his mouth works, opening and closing like a fish’s. “I--” He stops. He stares at Kimball for another moment, as though he half-expects or maybe half-hopes Kimball will take back her words. When she doesn’t, he says quietly, trembling a little in either indignation or fear, “Yes, well, perhaps you’re right. But if we are being honest with ourselves, Vanessa, what have _you_ accomplished? In the grand scheme of things? Have you made things better? Or have you simply brought suffering on yourself?”

A muscle jumps in Kimball’s jaw. She lets out a harsh breath. Then she takes a slow step forward, her eyes narrowed and her pointing finger twitching warningly at her side.

Now Carolina does get out of her chair. She waves a hand between the two witches. That finally gets their attention. They both look at her, Kimball still angry, Doyle embarrassed. “New ground rule! No fighting in my room!”

“That, ah, seems reasonable,” Doyle says. A self-conscious grimace deepens the flush in his face. He fidgets with the corner of his mustache, plucking at it nervously. “Perhaps, Vanessa, we should continue this debate another--”

Vanessa snaps her fingers, and she and Doyle are gone.

Carolina blinks. She listens, but if they’re downstairs, they’re not shouting at each other. She considers her options and then goes to knock on Church’s door. “Hey, what happens if Kimball turns our quizmaster into a frog?”

Church squints at her. Behind him, he has a game paused on the TV. He scratches at his neck and shrugs. He looks unconcerned by Doyle's fate. “Uh. I think we just get a new one?”

“Right.”

* * *

Although his interactions with Mrs. Popowski, the apparent owner of the Slicery, have been brief and slightly strange, Locus knows that the woman’s default tone is sarcasm. That’s why he doesn’t realize she’s being serious when she says, “All clocked out? Okay, don’t come back tomorrow.”

Locus pauses in the middle of hanging up his hat. “What?”

“You’re fired,” she says.

Locus stares.

There’s no sympathy in the woman’s face. “You took three times as long as the other delivery guy and you messed up two orders.”

“I did not make a mistake,” Locus says evenly, trying to keep his temper. “Both of those complaints were a ploy to--”

“Can it, pal,” Mrs. Popowski says. Locus, offended, goes back to staring. She looks him up and down. Without changing her sarcastic tone, she deadpans, “You ever consider modeling?”

“I’m getting paid for today, right?”

That was not Locus’s voice. He doesn’t look around to see where Grif is hiding.

Mrs. Popowski shrugs. “Yeah, sure. You’ll make a whole forty dollars, minus taxes. Enjoy.”

Locus is suddenly grateful for those generous tips. Still, most jobs give new employees a few days to learn and make allowances for mistakes. Only the fact that he didn’t enjoy the experience at all keeps him quiet. He wants to go home and wash away the smell of pepperoni.

“Thank you,” he says instead, and escapes outside.

“So that didn’t work,” Grif says, trotting at his heels. “Eh, we’ll come up with something.”

Locus glances around to assure himself that no one has noticed Grif talking. Then he says dryly, “Perhaps something that doesn’t involve food.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Grif’s nose twitches. “Then again, it’s not like you got free food out of the deal, so...yeah. Something else.”

* * *

There’s a knock on Carolina’s door.

After not being turned into a frog, Doyle’s made a few short visits to the brownstone over the past week. Every time he visits he abides by the ground rules, knocking on her door and avoiding Kimball.

“Come in,” Carolina says.

“Good evening, Carolina!” Doyle gives her a broad smile. In fact, he’s beaming from ear to ear. One look at his face, and Carolina gets nervous, because this is the most excited she’s seen him. “It’s the big day! Well, a stepping stone to _the_ big day when you get your official license, but--”

Carolina’s stomach twists. She’s read the entire handbook through, but she still feels unprepared. She thinks of Kimball with the quiz cards and her father’s faith in her abilities. She swallows, her mouth a little dry. “I’m taking the test? Now?”

Doyle nods. “Yes!”

“Okay, but--”

Apparently he’s too excited to let her finish her question, which was to ask if it’s also time for Church’s. He snaps his fingers, and Carolina yelps as her room expands and three doors appear in front of her. Each door has a number glowing gold above it.

She blinks. “Do I...have to use magic to open them or…?”

Doyle laughs. “Not exactly.” He snaps his fingers again. This time a scroll drops into his hands. He clears his throat. “Carolina, behind one of these doors is a car. Behind the other two are goats. Please pick a door.”

“What?”

“Pick a door,” Doyle says.

Carolina shakes her head. “You’re joking, right? My test is some magic Let’s Make a Deal?”

Doyle frowns. “No.” When she looks at him, he sighs. “Well, yes, I, ah, suppose. It isn’t my fault that some witch decided to make money by selling the idea to mortals! It has been a tradition for centuries!” He sighs. “And besides, it’s a much better test than the old two guards stand before you, one can only speak truth and the other can only speak lies. That one always gave me a headache.”

Then he coughs. He doesn’t look impatient, but his voice takes on a halfway firm tone. “Now, Carolina, you really do need to pick a door. As the great Bard once said, she who hesitates is lost!”

“Um.” Carolina stares at them. Three is a lucky number for witches, she remembers. She points at the third door. “That one?”

“Thank you, yes, very good.” Doyle points at the first door. It swings open, revealing a green pasture and a sullen goat that gives Carolina a baleful glare. “So the car wasn’t behind the first door. Would you like to change your answer before we open the third door?”

Carolina stares between Door Number Two and Door Number Three. She hesitates, trying to weigh the odds of being right with her first guess. “Well, I-- Wait. This is a math problem.”

Doyle nods. “Everyone needs to know math!”

“Okay, but how is this a test for my witch learner’s permit?” Carolina asks, exasperated.

Doyle just smiles and points a finger. Above them, a floating timer appears, counting down from thirty seconds. “You need to make a decision, Carolina. Door Number Two or Door Number Three?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Carolina demands. The only response is the timer continuing to flash down, the golden numbers flashing against the back of her eyelids even when she blinks. She scowls, pacing between the two doors. “I need--”

Time. She needs time to think without getting distracted by the clock. This is a math test, but it’s also a test for her learner’s permit. And she didn’t study that whole handbook just to have it be completely useless. She crooks her finger and stops time.

The timer’s golden letters pause. Actually, _everything_ pauses, including the goat who’s been glaring and chewing grumpily on grass. Even Doyle freezes in place, frozen in the middle of glancing up at the timer.

The timer and the goat stay frozen, but after a few seconds Doyle blinks.

For a second she thinks he’s going to be annoyed that he got caught by the time spell, but then he smiles at her and says, “Well, you have a little more time now! Still, you need to make a choice.”

Carolina takes a breath. “I know. It’s a probability problem. That means my first choice had a two-third chance of being wrong. But if I switch….” If she switches, probability dictates that she has a greater chance of choosing correctly. She hesitates, then nods. “I’ll switch. Door Number Two.”

Doyle snaps his fingers.

Time restarts. The timer disappears. Then the two doors swing open.

Carolina sighs in relief when she sees the car. “I was right.”

One of the goats wanders through the doorway. “Hey, stop that!” Carolina says, swatting at its nose when it tries to chew on her bedspread. It gives her the evil eye.

Meanwhile, Doyle beams. “Yes! Congratulations! And may I say, stopping time to let yourself think through the problem? Fantastic! It’s so rare to find a teenage witch who doesn’t dash off careless spells without considering the consequences.” He lowers his voice to a confiding whisper. “Why, not too long ago, a witch accidentally summoned two oncoming trains to her house during her test! It was quite the disaster! I believe someone's writing a country song about it, though that has never been my musical genre.”

Carolina feels pleased with herself until Doyle adds, “Of course, choosing the car wasn’t really important. I simply needed to see how you act under pressure.”

“Oh.” Carolina tries not to frown. She’s a little disappointed, though, that the math problem was mostly a red herring. Still, she clings to a thought. “So I passed? I get my learner’s?”

Doyle gives her another encouraging smile. “Almost! There’s just one more thing.” He snaps his fingers again.

A golden light temporarily blinds Carolina. When she blinks away the spots, she finds herself surrounded by white.

They’re in an enormous room. The walls are white, the ceiling’s white, even the floor is white. Carolina’s sneakers blend into the floor and she has a dizzy moment of feeling like she’s about to fall.

“Where are we?” she asks.

Doyle is still beaming. “This is grey space.”

Carolina stares around at the blinding whiteness. “Grey?”

Doyle chuckles. “Yes, I get that a lot.”

Carolina looks around. “I don’t see any more doors. Do I have to get us out of here?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Doyle says. “We’re here so that you can show me the true Carolina.”

“What?” Carolina says. She starts to scowl. “This wasn’t in the handbook either!”

Doyle blinks, hearing the edge in her voice. His enthusiasm falters. He fiddles with his bow tie. “Well, no. But you’ve proved to have a clever mind, Carolina. I’m sure you can pass this last test.” He gives her another smile, this one a little cautious around the edges. “Just show me your true self.”

“I don’t--” Carolina clamps her mouth shut. She stares around at the white walls, trying to figure out what he wants. What does her true self even mean? Maybe show a few of her favorite spells? She could do the speed spell, or--

It doesn’t feel right. Doyle said to show him, and all he’d see is a blur whizzing around the space. She tries to think, even as her stomach twists itself into a frustrated pretzel. “Right. My true self. Okay.”

She wishes Church was here. He’d probably be rolling his eyes and making suggestions that Carolina should go on a rant about how much she hates American food-- Wait. Church. She thinks of the framed memories spell. She can show Doyle her memories.

“Okay,” she says. How had Church done it? He’d had some ingredients, but she can’t remember all the herbs. She remembers the spell though. And the magic doesn’t need to be permanent.

Maybe if she adjusts it and turns it into a passion spell, then repeats it three times….

She chooses one of the memories she framed for her birthday first, since it’s easy to remember. She lifts the same hands that twisted her mom’s hair into a braid, points her finger towards the white wall, and recites her adjusted spell three times.

“A picture's worth a thousand words, and memories are the same. So take these precious moments and show them as a wall of fame.”

Blue magic sparks off her fingertip, and Carolina blinks. The magic is brighter than she expected, and when the memory appears on the wall, it’s crisp and clear, so real that she pauses, distracted by the clarity of her mom’s face.

Then she refocuses. She’s doing this _for_ her mom. Once she gets her license--

Carolina brings out memory after memory. Her father’s proud smile the first time she held an entire conversation in Spanish with one of her mom’s coworkers. Her birthday fireworks. Going to the beach with her friends. The first time she won a race without accidentally using magic. Each memory is as vivid as the first. With every recitation of the spell, her magic seems to expand, going from a single spark to a wave of blue that splashes against the wall like paint. It’s sort of fun, even as it reminds her that she should probably include some memories about using her magic.

She chooses the first time she magicked herself a new outfit, the speed spell, when she healed York’s eye using magic--

“Ah,” Doyle says.

Her concentration shatters. The feeling of warm self-satisfaction goes cold in her chest. She studies his uncomfortable expression, her stomach sinking, and tries to figure out where she went wrong. “What? I-- people are made up of their memories, right? So I was showing you--”

“No, no,” Doyle says hastily. He forces a smile. “The spell itself is clever! It’s only, ah, that last memory….” He pauses. “You helped that mortal? Healed his, um, eye? Did, ah, Vanessa tell you that you can’t--”

“Yeah, that night,” Carolina says shortly. “No charitable magic.”

Doyle looks relieved. “Good! It is one of the laws the Council is rather a stickler for, I’m afraid.”

“Uh huh,” Carolina says. She struggles to keep resentment off her face. She hates that law. There’s so much good she could do with her magic, and instead she’s expected to frame memories and solve math problems and waste these stupid powers. She pushes the anger away. “So I passed?”

The relief blossoms into a pleased smile. “Yes. You have officially earned your learner’s permit. Congratulations!”

Doyle snaps his fingers.

There’s a flash of golden light, and Carolina reappears in her room just in time to dive for one of the goats, who’s chewing at the edge of her copy of Frankenstein. “I’m borrowing that!” she snaps.

At the doorway, Kimball snorts. “Trust Doyle to forget about the goats.” She waves her finger and the goats, the car, and the doors vanish, the room compressing back to its regular size.

Grey eyes Carolina thoughtfully. “You’re looking a little dour,” she observes. “I can’t tell if you passed or not!”

“I did,” Carolina says without enthusiasm.

“Really?” Carolina starts to bristle at the doubt in Grey's voice when she adds, “Did Donald forget to give you your permit?”

“What?”

A second later, there’s a flash of light and Carolina instinctively grabs the small golden envelope floating in front of her face. There’s a small card inside that shimmers with magic. “With magic comes responsibility,” she reads. “Carolina Church. Official learner’s permit.”

“Congratulations!” Grey says, beaming.

Kimball is smiling too. “I knew you could do it. Great job, Carolina.”

Some of Carolina’s resentment fades in the face of both Grey and Kimball looking so happy, though she still doesn’t feel excited. She turns the card over, but that’s all it says. She’s about to ask what it means to have her learner’s when she thinks of a better question. “Do you think Church is having his test right now?”

Kimball smiles ruefully. “Well, with twins, it's generally the same day, to be fair to both--”

She’s cut off by an outraged howl that fills the brownstone. “_NO ONE SAID THERE WOULD BE MATH!”_

“...I don’t think he passed,” Carolina says. She’s amused until she sees the expressions on Grey and Kimball’s faces. Her stomach clenches again. “What?”

Grey and Kimball exchange an unsmiling look as Church stomps up the stairs, his words muffled but his frustration audible. “There are consequences to failing,” Grey explains.

“What kind of consequences?”

“Witch camp,” Kimball says.

Carolina frowns. “Camp doesn’t sound too bad.”

Grey purses her lips. “It is when it’s boot camp! Think less Scouts and marshmallows, more military school and misery. Church isn’t going to enjoy himself at all!”

The angry footsteps pause outside Carolina’s door. Church slowly pokes his head inside. He doesn’t look happy. He scans everyone’s faces, and looks even more unhappy. Then he opens his mouth.

“Military what now?”

**Author's Note:**

> **Fun trivia fact:** And thus begins Locus's job search! Ninety-nine percent of the ensuing jobs were ones that one of the writers worked before she became a script writer. Apparently she lasted an hour at the pizza parlor instead of a day. Also definitely didn't get any tips. We've all been there.


End file.
